


How?

by Kabal42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M, POV Second Person, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-25
Updated: 2005-02-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:24:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1845907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabal42/pseuds/Kabal42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can you love someone you hate? Someone you've always hated, learned to hate. How..?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

How do you explain or justify something like that to yourself? There is no beating around the bush: how do you explain attraction where there is really, should really, only be loathing. Rivalry of the worst kind. Hate even. This is the first time I try to put it into words and it is a painful process.

He is everything I am glad that I am not. Everything I pride myself in not being. Yet, I feel oddly drawn to that - and to him. I could tell myself it’s the mystery, the difference, that I want to know more, to understand, but no, that’s not really it. I don’t want to understand him; I want him.

The worst part, the one I can’t even admit to myself, is that I love him. I look at him across the room; watch the way he moves, and feel how my body synchronises with his. The way I can recognize him by his walk long before I see the white hair that confirms that yes, it is him. The thrill when I discover that I spotted him again.

I love a guy who is doing his best, which is very good indeed, to make my life miserable. He always has, right from the very start. I have no clue why that is, what I really did to deserve that. But that is the part, which makes it all so horrible. 

How can you love someone who hurts you like that?

When we were younger I sometimes cried in secret because of the injustice of it. The hurtful things he said. Of course, there were others too, but they somehow never mattered as much. He did. He made it count.

I know I rejected him back then and that is possibly why our relationship has always been to thwart, hurt, and hinder the other, but I never wanted that; I just wanted to avoid repeating the mistakes of others. 

Now I am beginning to think that much might have been different for both of us if I had been a better diplomat.

Yes, I know, an 11-year-old boy cannot be expected to think like that, and I really can’t blame my former self. I did what I thought right and best, but that will not stop me from wondering. Had I been able to manage to play both sides of the field or to try and bring those sides together then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be suffering as he is now with his parents gone. He might have had a friend, not just a bodyguard, and maybe even a lover to lean on.

And I know he is suffering. I have studied him for seven years, after all. It’s hard to watch pride fall like that even though I doubt that anyone else notices a difference. 

I do. He can’t hide from me.

Could it be that the rivalry, the hatred, the distrust, all that made us watch each other so closely, have made us the closest thing to a soul mate that you can get? I think so. But then again, I am hopelessly romantic. A fool in love. A fool in love with a bastard.

Right now I see him coming towards me and I wonder what he’s up to? I’m the only one here right now; the others are having a Quidditch match for fun. I sit here under a tree and pretend to watch them from afar.

He must be headed for me. And usually that is unpleasant, usually it means more hurtful words, but there is something different about him this time.

And isn’t it odd that the two best Seekers in school are not playing? Coincidence? Probably not. 

His walk is different, that’s it. The steps are hesitant, his eyes shift around, but he is still coming this way. I wonder...


	2. Part 2

I have been wondering about him for some time now. In a way, for as long as I’ve known his name. And in earnest for as long as I have known him.

It is a strange thing to know someone’s name and have no idea who they are. That is how most wizarding children feel about Harry Potter - and quite a few wizarding adults as well.

These last few years though, my thoughts of him have changed. Like just before. I was watching the game when I realised that had he been up there then so would I. I declined to play when he was not on the opposing team – there is no fun in it without him, without the competition, without the constant vigilance.

We watch each other. We always have. Hostile watches, hateful words. All because of a chance of birthrights. Not for our own selves. It is a hate that is inherited.

Partly.

When I am being completely honest with myself I know that part of it began because I felt scorned. Rejected. I am not used to that and I'm proud. Sometimes too much so.

I have always had people throwing themselves at me, I still do; right now is the first time in a long while I have been left alone, and I only managed that because I sneaked away from that game everyone is watching.

He knows that feeling.

And he never throws himself anywhere.

I admire him. Grudgingly so, but I do. We are opposites. I guess there is truth in the old saying that opposites attract.

It is such a mixed up thing. It took me a while to realise, but for almost a year now I have been unable to reject it.

I am in love.

Not only am I in love with another guy, which is bad enough in itself, but I am in love with one who would, even if he were a girl, be the most unacceptable of choices in the world. Yet, now I don’t know what I have to lose. Not anymore.

At first I thought that he hated me too, that hate was all he felt. That was what it used be like between us after all and habits are really hard to break. I mean, I still talk bad about him, make nasty remarks and try to hurt him as much as I can. Because I can’t have him. It is silly and I know it. But it's all I know how to do.

And now he’s sitting there and we are leaving school soon. I am going to a home that is empty; my parents are respectively dead and gone. I own a shitload of everything, mainly money, I have everything going for me, but not a soul in the world cares for   
me. Save perhaps him.

He watches me. That alone is caring.

And he is less guarded now as if the death of the Dark Lord made something in him loosen up and allowed him to hope and feel. He’s not as skilled in hiding feelings as I am, nor in hiding looks. And what looks. With what eyes.

I am getting close to him now. He’s sitting under that tree, over there and watching the game. He has noticed me now; ever observant he is, even when occupied by something else. I can see his green eyes follow me and I watch as he sits there, illuminated by the scattered sunlight under the tree. Watch as he rises, waiting for me to get there, waiting for me to say something.

I wonder what he anticipates, given our history? He’s no fool and he will know the attraction I feel the moment he sees the look in my eyes. And I don’t know if I have the courage to say what I want to. If he will have the courage either.

But I am there now.

**Author's Note:**

> This was probably the first slash I ever wrote. Aw.


End file.
